


the cavalry calls you in

by auxanges



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Quadrant Vacillation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auxanges/pseuds/auxanges
Summary: They’re all tailored for the season, you suddenly realize, you’ve been shoal busy keeping up with administration bullship you haven’t had time to answer Kanaya’s calls for your own appointment.You hate missing appointments! You had stress dreams about showing up late to your own challenge to the throne!





	the cavalry calls you in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thescyfychannel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/gifts).



> so in a post rebellionstuck world, how would these nerds celebrate the coming of fall? I'm thinking like, empress feferi, her beloved consorts-slash-advisors/admirals/commanders/spymasters/etc, all wrapped up in a nice bit of autumn?
> 
> (I'm a big fan of Eridan♥Feferi♥Sollux♠Eridan, with HELLA vacillation all around)
> 
> -
> 
> happy halloween scy! i would die for rebellionstuck erifefsolkat any day of the week, and then make up an extra day of the week just for that purpose

The seasons throw themselves at your inheritance relentlessly. Alternia is an Empire that’s been dictated by colour for so long none of you really know how to carry on otherwise: when fall lays its claim over piece after piece of the shoreline, you resign to the demands of your quadmates to, as they so eloquently put it—

“—go out in something other than a tankini and the corpses of however many butterflies you sacrificed for those skirts. I’m shocked they aren’t on the endangered species list by now.” 

Your commander-in-chief and unofficial team mascot pisses off as much as he pacifies, and you stick out your tongue and wiggle your fins. With your hair up in a tightly coiled braid, it’s a more impressive gesture. “I have not made it my profishion to put any species on any lists. We awlready have a guy for that!” 

“Thanks, Fef.” Alternia’s mapmaker, decorated war boy and well-versed pain in the universe’s ass leans an elbow on Karkat’s hair. He’s got a delicate crown of laurels in his curls: it would go straight to his head if you called it pretty, so you let Karkat do it most of the time and watch him lose his mind. “Easy-bake’s got a point, though.”

“Drown, Ampora.”

“Cold front’s comin in,” Eridan continues, and you notice that he’s changed into warmer wear—for someone who usually layers anyway, it looks good on him, the burnt reds and oranges and deep greens and well-worn tans and browns. He’s like a quiet fire, his own little oxymoron. 

Speaking of morons, the fourth corner of your clade hops down from a handful of stories above your balcony. “Every front around you is cold,” says your information superhighway and current record-holder for pints of cinnamon cider chugged without throwing up. (It’s twenty-one, and Eridan learned the hard way not to make fun of it for him in tandem with Karkat.) 

“Original, I love it. Hey, did you crawl out the caverns with your sense a humour asphyxiatin or was that a side effect of how tight your ass is?” Eridan’s other elbow aims for Sollux’s glasses, and Sollux attempts to bite the joint. He cuts a charming figure, when he matches his kismesis—they’re all tailored for the season, you suddenly realize, you’ve been shoal busy keeping up with administration bullship you haven’t had time to answer Kanaya’s calls for your own appointment. 

You hate missing appointments! You had stress dreams about showing up late to your own challenge to the throne! 

“Anyone home?” A skillfully manicured hand waves in front of your face and you kiss it on instinct; Karkat makes a little “yeep” noise that has Sollux dissolving into snickers, which make their way around your circle like a weird dorky telephone line. “We said we have something for you.”

You give your best impression of Eridan with an expired glasses prescription. “What is it?”

“Well, we don’t have it here,” Sollux says, “you’ll have to pick it out.”

“What?” You glance over your shoulder, down at the rows of lights dotting the shore. Stalls of food, crafts, wares—things you hadn’t actually realized were parts of life here. Maybe they weren’t, that’s what Eridan and Karkat have implied. They imply mostly good things about you, like if they don’t say it straight-up it won’t sound so cheesy. 

(Cheesy is pretty okay, sometimes!)

“We talked to Kan. Tweaked your schedule, some. She’s got some a the best weavers down there to show you what we can work with. You can make your own shit to keep warm out there.”

You beam. “Reely?”

“Reely,” Karkat finishes. “We’ll take care of the keeping you warm in here.”

“God, Kar, that was super lame.”

“Super lame, KK.”

“Again, your penchant for creativity is strikin, Sol.” 

You launch yourshellf at the first body that you don’t think will topple over with the force of your hugs and miscalculate greatly. Someone groans, and you all eventually land in a mess of coppery colours and laughter that would put the sun, if you ever saw it, to shame. 

“Bet I can break twenty-three ciders tonight.”

“You would combust at the very notion an then we’d all need new gear.”

You rise gracefully to your feet and declare, with every minutiae of royalty you possess, “Landlubber, I will drink you under the fucking table.” 


End file.
